


watch me

by saraheli



Category: Block B
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 16:51:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14794317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraheli/pseuds/saraheli
Summary: Spending your day off with your boyfriend Minhyuk in the studio is always a good time, but when he tries to teach you, the self-declared queen clumsiness, how to dance like he does, you two have more fun than you ever expected to amidst the missteps and corrections.





	watch me

Minhyuk at been at it on his own for hours. The studio was filled with the humidity of human motion and the music for his next performance. He stared at himself in the mirror, observing the motions of his moving form and making corrections as he did so. He moved almost seamlessly between the songs, not allowing for there to be any disconnect. It was as if he were performing a professional show just for you. You, however, were not being nearly as productive as you sat against the back wall tapping away at the keys of your computer.

Days like these were few and far between, but they were always blessings when they came. The two of you were both horrible busy: you with your studies and him with his music, but you always managed to make time for one another. Whether it was a whole day like this one or a lone text at the end of the night, you and Minhyuk always went out of your ways to remind each other how much you each cared.

But today, he really had to come to the studio, so you decided to accompany him for the morning before forcing him to leave for lunch. He was working so hard and yet, each time he spun or caught your eye in the mirror, his focus seemed to melt as he grinned at you with the purest happiness of a child.  

You watched him with adoration, trying not to let him hold your attention for too long; you really did have things you needed to get done this morning. Once the song ended for what felt like the thousandth time, he came over and, breathing heavily, plopped himself down on the floor beside you. He dropped his head onto your shoulder and poured water into his mouth from his bottle.

“Whatcha doing?” He asked after a moment, turning so that he could spy on your screen. He watched you answer questions on your assignment for a moment before you responded.

“Nothing productive,” you said, closing your laptop and pouting your lower lip.

He chuckled at you and turned to kiss your cheek warmly, sliding his arm across your stomach so that it rested against you.

It was such a minuscule piece of contact, but just the weight of his body against your side was exactly the comfort you had been craving in your months apart from him. Minhyuk could feel it, too, his body becoming all the warmer as he breathed in your scent and placed a sweet peck on your shoulder.

“Well, if you feel like being productive, then I could teach you some of this choreography. It’s not too difficult,” he shrugged as much as he could from where he laid against your side and peered up at you in wait for your response.

You let out a series of uncomfortable laughs before agreeing to do so, warning him that you were “dangerously uncoordinated” before continuing. He stood and offered his hands to you, waggling his fingers as he shook his hips playfully. You smiled up at him and wrapped your hands around his so that he could pull you to your feet.

“Alright, let’s start slow,” Minhyuk said, holding you to him for a moment so that he could brush his nose against yours in lieu of a kiss. Immediately afterward, he stepped away and left his hands on your hips, “after we warm up, of course.”

What Minhyuk called a light warm-up was painful for you as you made yourself keep up with him. You were far less fit than he was, but he believed in you and gave you endless words of encouragement, which stopped when the dancing began.

It started fairly simply with minor steps that you two repeated until he felt you sufficiently could follow them through, but, as things became more and more complicated, your feet could no longer keep up with your eyes or your brain and you repeatedly asked him to go over things again.

After a few cycles of this, Minhyuk let out a little chuckle, “Babe, just watch me for a second.”

He would show you the moves and ask you to repeat them and you did so messily with laughs of your own.

“Okay, how about this,” he suggested, coming to stand behind you.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed the side of your neck sweetly before sliding his hands down your arms so that he held your hands, the backs of yours pressed gently against his palms.

“Since you are…oh gosh, how did you put it? Oh, right—”

“Dangerously uncoordinated,” the two of you said at the same time. A fit of giggles emitted from you and he smiled into your hair as he waited for the song to start again.

Once it did, he guided your body through the motions as best as he could. The two of you goofily yelled the choreographic instructions in horrendous stupid unison, the words interrupted by you tripping over each other’s feet and laughing howling laughs.

When the song came to an end, you feigned a whine of discomfort and wiggled from his grip. You looked back at him over his shoulder and scrunched your nose up at him.

“I’m awful, I don’t know how we even work together,” you said dramatically, sighing as if in distress and grabbing onto the ballet bar attached to the wall.

“You’re not awful, you just have…” Minhyuk approached you and took your face in both of his hands, “creative interpretation.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes, setting your hands on his wrists, and, wrapping your fingers around them, you pulled him closer and rested your cheek on his shoulder.

“Somehow, that is even worse than being a bad dancer,” you chuckled softly, “I suppose your theory about me being perfect is soiled now?”

Minhyuk narrowed his eyes and pushed you back, setting one hand on each of your hips, “Incorrect. You’re still perfect.”


End file.
